


I'm Losing It

by Trytoescapeit



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: A Calvin is in it but it's not THE Calvin, Angst, Depression, I'm so sorry, M/M, Sorry again, don't worry i couldn't do it, gemma is just lovely, harry tries to help but it's hard, i mean like there was a death but not that important i guess, i was thinking about killing off louis, idk probably an older version of Calvin Harris, louis has depression, the other boys are probably going to come in later on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-04-23 16:16:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4883434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trytoescapeit/pseuds/Trytoescapeit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What the hell were you thinking, Louis?" She yells but starts to take off his soaked coat, scarf, and hat.  The she turns to Harry like clockwork, there's too much anger in the room.</p><p>"And what the hell were you thinking?" She seethes jamming her pointer against his chest.</p><p>"What'd I do?" He scowls and Louis' back to himself because he pushes past the both of them and makes his way upstairs silently. Well not so silently because when he's done making right with his livid sister, he's going to sought out Louis and keep him company.</p><p>"You think you're a fucking hero by storming out there without a coat or a hat or a scarf? You've got a death wish I don't know about? I'll bring you to Louis' doctor right fucking now if you do, I won't hesitate Harry."</p><p>Or the one where Louis suffers from depression and the Styles siblings make it their obligation to make him a little less sad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Capter I.

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, depression is a serious illness and should not be romanticized ever. It's serious and every person deals with it differently. I do not own anyone mentioned in this fic, obviously. I swear it's going to get happier by the end of this fic; like fluff scenes after fluff scenes but first I need to get over with the sad angst-y parts. Please take depression very seriously because it is serious. Like, I did research so I can understand it but this is a work of fiction so I didn't get it all right.

_"_ _No amount of fire or freshness can challenge what a man will store up in his ghostly heart."_

–

F. SCOTT FITZGERALD, _The Great Gatsby_    


Louis' cold, skin frigid as he stands in the middle of a snow storm. His winter coat does no justice against the biting cold, he could feel the stinging on his lips and wills himself not to lick them because then they'd feel like they're on fire. The sky's white, reflecting off of the snowy ground. It seeps into his shoes, the snow; seeps beneath his eyelids so bright, the bright sky. He's not above getting frost bite and having to amputate the cold body part, he's been standing in the cold for too long for that not to be an outcome.  

"Garret?" he calls into the oblivion that's being absorbed by the blizzard, white everything and he's trying not to get frustrated but he wants to go home, or rather Garret's home. That's when a hand, a very cold hand, hauls him backwards. It's larger then Garret's so he pulls back but the person's rather strong. He turns to the foreigner and _of course_ it's Harry Styles, green angry eyes piercing through Louis like he'd done something terribly wrong. He didn't. He tries to take his hand away from Harry's because he'd rather not have a wet cold hand touching his hand. It was just beginning to feel numb and now he feels frigid all over again. Harry's not wearing anything to protect him from the snow though so Louis quits fighting and walking beside him, his hand still in Harry's.  

"Harry, next time wear a coat before you play in the snow," Louis sighs because this snow's really cold and he doesn't want to take care of Harry when he falls ill'; it's not a site he enjoys. Harry would say the same about Louis but Louis' naturally _always_ sick.  

"Does it look like I'm playing in the snow, Louis?" He bites but he knows Louis will think whatever he wants to think, he'll do whatever he wants to do. Louis' slowing his pace and this abso-fucking-lutely not going to happen on Harry's watch. He just wants to go home and wrap Louis in his electric blanket to thaw him out. His hands peculiarly cold like his bloods turned to slush.  

"Louis _no_ , you will keep walking until we've made it, do you fucking hear me," he yelled so his voice would be carried through the wish-wash wind. It sounds like when he was younger and he's clap his hands over is ear and off of them in a fast motion while sitting in the noisy cafeteria. _Shwish-Hish_. He should've put on a coat if he'd known Louis wondered this far. Their close though and Louis' being stubbornly slow.  

"Yes I fucking hear you, but my feet are cold," Louis bites back. He's coming back to Harry, that's good, it takes his attention away from the fact that his body's burning as if the snow's fire.  

"Louis, what were you doing out here?" Harry asks calmly even though yelling seems to bring him back to usual self much faster.  

"Garret," Louis stumbles on his words, this is also good, he's seeing where he'd went wrong.  

"What about Garret, babe?" they're climbing the steps to Harry's and Gemma's house, Louis' too. Gemma's sitting in front of the television, eerie blue lights reflecting off of her face, dancing across her cheeks and mixing with the brown of her eyes. She turns towards them when she hears the door slam, standing up fast.  

"What the hell were you thinking, Louis?" She yells but starts to take off his soaked coat, scarf, and hat.  The she turns to Harry like clockwork, there's too much anger in the room.  

"And what the hell were you thinking?" She seethes jamming her pointer against his chest.  

"What'd _I_ do?" He scowls and Louis' back to himself because he pushes past the both of them and makes his way upstairs silently. Well not so silently because when he's done making right with his livid sister, he's going to sought out Louis and keep him company.  

"You think you're a fucking hero by storming out there without a coat or a hat or a scarf? You've got a death wish I don't know about? I'll bring you to Louis' doctor right fucking now if you do, I won't hesitate Harry."  

"I had to look for Louis, I didn't do it on purpose," he rolls his eyes and stares her right in the eyes so she could see his honesty. She sees it because she sighs and carries Louis wet clothes to the washing machine. It falls with a _plonk_ and Harry cringes because Louis' probably cold.  

"Well how about this genius," she seethes with sarcasm, "your coats hanging on the coat rack that's conveniently by the door for a reason, alright?" Harry nods because he really needs to be over with this to find Louis. He's probably taking a bath with the hottest water the knobs and boiler can conjure and Harry doesn't like that idea.  

"Gems I gotta go," he says pointing to upstairs and understanding flashes over her eyes, she nods, "won't happen again," he promises and takes the stairs two at a time. His and Louis' room is ajar, the sower could be heard the closer he gets. Hard pallets of shower water thud against the tub floor and he could hear Louis humming something familiar. A slow instrumental being carried through the cracks under the door and reverberating against the walls; which means he's in a shitty mood (and Harry wants to change that. He really wants to change it.). He strips his clothes slowly and then makes his way to the bathroom where Louis stands with shampoo in his hair, the soapy suds turn his hair grey and Harry cracks a smile as he slips under the shower head beside Louis.  

"What do you say after our very much needed shower, we make cookies? Peanut butter chocolate chip, your favorite?" Harry purrs as he snakes his arms around Louis' naked body. He ducks his head so he could kiss Louis' neck which was a bad idea. He snorts and almost chokes from the water that dripped down his hair and made into his nostrils. He's sputtering and his nostrils burn. He could hear Louis giggling though and that kind of numbs the pain. He carries on for show though because Louis' smile is bright and his eyes are dancing with amusement.  

"Jesus, that was a bad idea," he wheezed one last time and resumed his hold on Louis, pushing him flush against his body.  

"Next time get out of the shower spray when you attempt something like that again, yeah?" Louis says and turns his body around so he could look at Harry more closely. And Harry was right, the water's so scalding that he sees the red marks on his and Louis' skin. It hurts. He backs their bodies closer to the handles so he could lower the heat, put colder into the mix without Louis noticing. He absolutely hates the temperature Louis always sets the shower to but the rule is whoever's last stepping into the tub has no say in the temperature. He's subtle as he lowers the handle with a faded _H_ and raises the _C_ handle.  

"It hurts to sniffle, water's still in there," Harry murmurs while Louis' mouth attaches to his chest; one small kiss and then he bites down... _hard_. Harry yelps and he can't even properly look down at Louis because of previous events.  

"What, on god’s green earth, was that for?"  

"For touching the fucking temperature," Louis clips and Harry tries to hide his smile because if Louis saw him smiling while he's being yelled at, Louis would just keep going. He doesn't want this to keep going.  

"I didn't touch it," he says instead and rests his chin on the top of Louis head. His skin's starting to resemble raisins.  

"Do you think I didn't notice the water turning into Antarctica? Play by the rules, Haz."  

"The rules aren't even fair if you think about it. If person A gets in first, they're their longer, you know? So wouldn't it be fair for Person B to choose the temp seeing as Person A was their longer with the temperature of their choice?" Louis hums as if he's considering what Harry's saying, he's not but Harry likes the thought.  

"You're just saying that because you're always last," Louis then says and turns around to turn the faucet off and wrap himself in the towel he left on top of the rack. Harry didn't think of that so he trudges to the bed and wraps himself in the beige blankets. Louis striped heater blanket is already plugged into the wall, awaiting him.  

"Now our sheets are wet," he complains and Harry shrugs his shoulders. After drying off and putting on sweat pants they both get in the covers correctly and it's nice, really nice. Louis warmer and Harry's comfortable. As per usual, Louis' the first to fall asleep and Harry pretends to not notice the sadness that takes over Louis' face when he sleeps. He always thought unconscious people were happier but that's not the case for the short man sleeping beside. Soon Harry joins with his own slumber but he's not sad like Louis is when he sleeps.   Harry wakes up first to Gemma standing over him and he groans because he already knows what this is about. Detaching himself from Louis reluctantly, he looks really sad right then, he follows Gemma down the stairs and into the kitchen where, of course, Louis' orange prescription bottle is sitting on the island.  

"We need to change his medication," she says without as much as a good morning.  

"No," he simply remarks because that'd be the worst thing for Louis, everything else does shit for him.  

"What do you mean no, Harry he could've gotten lost last night and the week before that and so on? He should not be experiencing illusions, the doctor even said if he does then we should report it," Gemma glares at him. Harry rubs his eyes and then looks at the bottle in questioning.  

"Gemma, this is the only medication that actually helps with depression without having him vomit or something," he sighs because she always does this. After one ad symptom, she wants to change the prescription and it's not fair to Louis. He's happier, he really is. The only bad side of the pill is that he experiences illusions every now and then but at least he's not void of emotion or contemplating heavy decisions. He talks more about his emotions too, he's not reserved like the last prescription made him.  

"Okay, what if one day he strolls out of the house in the middle of the night and stumbled upon that damn pond and all of a sudden sees fucking Garret and wants to follow, huh? What then, we just learn from our mistake then?" There's a band aid on her palm, Harry reaches for it absentmindedly.  

"What happened? I don't recall seeing this yesterday?"  

"The dog bit me, you're changing the topic," she glares, "you know I'm right."  

"One more week to see how things go, yeah? Please, it can't be healthy for him to be changing medications so often, it can't be. It's probably affecting his organs or something. One more week, please?"

Gemma sighed but nodded just the same and Harry’s face instantly fills relief.

“This is really helping him, you know?” Harry mumbled while taking the small bottle and opening it swiftly, with much experience.

“Can I not take them today?” Louis asks from behind him, Harry whips back fast at the sound of his voice, soft and gruff. Hair sticking up in all directions and eyes electric blue- vibrant; Harry locks him in a tight hug.

“Of course not Lou, you have to take them right after you eat,” he purrs in his ear, hot breath fanning against his skin.

 

“One day, please. Maybe I’ve already gotten better. We’d never know if I keep on the pill,” Louis argues but it’s more of a whisper that makes Harry want to comply easily, he doesn’t though because his long term goal is to keep Louis for as long as he himself lives. Because here’s the thing, when Louis gets better, Harry’s going to take him to New York just like Louis’ hoped since they met three years ago. Sitting in that dingy park Harry always went too strictly for the swings. They’d been twenty one then and Louis already had such a great sadness that Harry didn’t understand although he wanted to. Louis parched himself on the swing beside him, staring at nothing specific; almost emotionless with wet cheeks and bloody flecks on his cheekbones and palms. Harry had to know what’d happened to him then so he shyly asked.

“Bad night?” Harry asked so low he was surprised the stranger had heard him and even more surprised when said stranger lifted his head with trepidation. Wide eyes so blue they made Harry’s water. He didn’t talk though, he opened his mouth but he didn’t talk.

 

“Are you okay?” Louis shook his head so fast he probably saw the colors of the lights around them morph together beautifully. Harry hoped he had because colors were unusually beautiful at night, he always thought they were romantic and if the sad boy sitting beside him saw them, Harry thought he wouldn’t be so sad anymore.

 

“I would like to go to New York,” the boy said, sounding rather exhausted; his eyes never leaving Harry’s. Even then Harry had wanted to make that come true for him, he wanted it more when Louis was diagnosed with persistent depressive disorder. Both weren’t ever surprised, Harry was mad a t himself for not being surprised but the signs were _there_. The pills Louis was prescribed always helped though.

 

So of course when Louis asks Harry for a day of not taking the pill, his decision is already made up. Taking a single pill from the bottle and an apple from the countertop, Harry hands it to him steadily. He could feel the frustrated eyes on him from Louis but ignores it.

 

“Harry,” he whines and then looks at Gemma for assistance.

 

“Louis, why don’t you want to take them?” she asks calmly while she ties her hair back in a ponytail. Harry already knows the answer but he lets Louis answer, instead he walks to him and wraps his arms around his waist planting a small kiss to the top of his head.

 

“Good morning,” Harry says in his ear, leaving a kiss there too. Louis gives him a small smile.

 

“They make me feel displaced. Like it’s not me in my body. Shouldn’t I feel like I’m in charge of my own body?”

 

“You said that about the last prescription,” Harry responded before Gemma could. Gemma usually yells. Louis takes small bites from the apple with fait irritation in his eyes, a pout in display. Harry leans down to kiss it but Louis moves his head for Harry’s lips to attach to his cheek. He should have seen that coming, honestly.

“Well that’s what the medication does to me,” Louis mumbled and sets the apple down on the counter top, only a little less than half of it eaten. He raises the pill to him mouth but Harry stops him.

 

“No Lou, you have to eat at least half of the apple so the pill doesn’t burn a hole in your stomach lining,” he says and now Louis really does look mad. He picks the food up and takes faster, larger bites almost finishing the whole thing before popping the pill on his tongue and swallowing.

 

“I’m not a fucking child that needs supervision. Stop belittling me and treating me like a sick child,” he seethes before walking out of the kitchen and going up the stairs to their room. Gemma looks at Harry with a perked eyebrow, a silent question on her face.

 

“I’ve got,” he sighs and takes the cup of water the side that Louis was _supposed_ to take the pill with. Harry didn’t know why Louis always insisted on dry swallowing the thing.

 

Walking to Louis, Harry opened the door to find Louis sitting on the bed looking outside the window, the sun lighting his face. Harry took a mental picture.

 

“Go away Harry,” Louis sighed not turning to him. Harry set the cup on the dresser to sit next to Louis on the bed. He could see the dust rising from where the sun shone in streams casting different shapes on the wall behind them.

 

“We know you’re not a child, okay? We just worry; want to take care of you because we love you.”

 

‘But all you guys ever do is worry like you’re waiting for me to do something wrong, something irrational. You don’t treat me like a person anymore,” Louis said, his voice so childish.

 

“That’s not true. We treat you just the same like we’ve always treated you, just a little more protective. And we don’t know if you’d consider doing anything irrational if you’re not taking your medication, that’s the point of it. If you don’t like the way the pill feels when you take it, we can visit Doctor Calvin, only if you’re being honest.” Louis ’already went through three counting the one he takes now.

 

“I don’t like the hallucinations, Harry.”

 

“I know,” Harry sighs resting his head on the headboard. Louis looks up at him.

 

“Can we visit Calvin then? I’ll try not to complain about the next one, I’ll be honest with my symptoms,” Louis promises, “I’m sorry for getting angry downstairs.”

 

“We’ll go today and don’t hold back on the complaints, I want you to feel comfortable; you deserve to feel comfortable. Sorry for smothering you and being dismissive. I brought you a glass of water, you don’t have to take it if you don’t want to.” Louis gets up anyway and gulps the whole thing down, a small smile ghosting his face.

 

 

 


	2. I thought I Saw The Devil This Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Louis look at me,” Harry asks politely because Louis’ staring out the window like he’s interested in it; like he’s dissecting something. Harry moves his head with his chin, making Louis look down before sighing and looking at him properly. His eyes are sad, eyebrows pulled together miserably. 
> 
> “I’m sorry,” he whispers into the small space of the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so like I said before, I'm literally getting my information on depression from the internet and from my high school Sophmore year psychology course so if I've offended anyone by getting something completely or remotely wrong please tell me. I really don't want to be ignorant and offend anyone. Please comment what you think so far, comments are lovely. You can talk to me on my tumblr at trytoescapeit.
> 
> I got the chapter title from James Young "I'll Be Good". Beautiful song, I recommend.

**Chapter II**.

_“Damn it! Don’t you dare ask God to help me!”_

—

JOAN CRAWFORD, _last words to his housekeeper while she prayed for him on his death bed._

 

Harry knows the way to Louis’ doctor like he’d been driving there since he was six. Louis is sat in the passenger seat as per usual, staring at the bright sun. When Louis was younger he learned about an artist who stared at the sun for too long that when he turned away from the blazing thing, all he could see were the lines and silhouettes of objects. From that came the creation of contour drawings, his favorite kind of art because of the vague drawings created by a single line. So Louis was staring at the sun now, ignoring the black spots that burned through his cornea. The car halted and Harry appeared on his door, opening it and helping him out. They walked through the glass doors; Harry’s hand much larger than Louis. He couldn’t tell whose hand was sweating more. The receptionist greeted them kindly as she always did, all warm and happy.

“What brings you boys here?” Her lips were painted in a deep red; rosy cheeks that contrasted with her brown eyes. Somehow, the chunks of her mascara looks pleasant like that’s how it’s supposed to look. He knows it’s not because he lives with his sister.

“We would like to see Doctor Calvin if that’s possible? We didn’t schedule an appointment but we’d be really happy if he could sacrifice a little time,” Harry smiles coolly and talks sincerely. He already knows the doctor is on a lunch break meaning he’s in his office picking on a salad. _Meaning_ he’s absolutely free at the moment.

“Never an inconvenience for him to see you,” she smiles, “you know the way.” She points in the general direction of his office and they both start walking down the shiny corridor, only stopping when they reach his door to knock politely. He can hear shuffling on the other side of the door; a few things falling to the floor and then quiet.

“Come in,” a gruffly voice calls and Louis swings the door open slowly. The door’s heavy so he uses both his hands to push it.

“Louis,” he sounds surprised, “what brings you here? Is everything fine?” The doctor’s old, wiser. Big round black glasses adorning the bridge of his nose and kind grey eyes; wrinkling face and thin pale pink lips. He’s in his usual suit; white button-up with grey slacks. There’s salad on the floor and paper work littering the brown top desk table.

“I’m fine,” Louis reassures but takes a seat at the lying chair, “I’ve just got a sort of complaint on the prescription you gave me.” Harry slowly sits next to Louis in the neighboring chair and he wonders if they’ve made the chairs uncomfortable on purpose so people would feel compelled to leave sooner than later.

“Louis,” the doctor warns and uses is finger to push the glasses correctly on his face. He fixes an annoyed look on Louis. Harry feels like he has to vouch for Louis; defend him.

“He’s been seeing illusions about once a week and we’ve tried to change his diet because we thought that maybe it was the pill not reacting well to the food he consumed but nothing’s changed. Is there any other option, therapy or something?” Harry asks in his best pleading voice. He could feel Louis stiffen beside him.

“No, I’ve already went to therapy; I’m better now,” Louis says sternly. He’s twiddling with his pinky finger; face flushed.

“But you keep having hallucinations about Garret, Louis. That’s not healthy, I don’t think.”

“What do you mean by illusions? What do you see Louis?” Calvin asks, all chill and interested. Louis sighs.

“Sometimes, not even often,” he sends a glare to Harry and then returns his attention to the doctor, “I think I see Garret and I _know_ he died three years ago but in those moments I forget.”

“Well that’s not good at all,” Doctor Calvin remarks and Harry could hear Louis’ sarcastic mumbled _You think?_ So he elbows him receiving a scowl and Louis pulling away.

“Isn’t there another option? Anything else we can put him on?” Closing his eyes, the doctor put his hand to his chin, seemingly deep in thought before nodding and getting up. He moved slowly across the room to retrieve a pharmacist slip where he began to scribble on.

“Let’s try Paxil also known as paroxetine, alright? It specializes in aiding persistent depressive disorder you shouldn’t have sudden bouts of illusions and you’d feel more in control with your body,” Dr. Calvin fixes a stern look on Louis, “you _will_ tell me if you have suicidal thoughts or self-harm thoughts or even feeling a strange sadness, wouldn’t you Louis?”

“Of course,” Louis pipes and he could feel Harry’s hands on his; strong and reassuring.

“Alright then,” he looks at Harry, “take care of each other then.” He hands Harry the slip and sits back in his chair while they both get up and walk to the exit. They throw a farewell over their backs and wave politely to the receptionist before making their way to the car. The suns still bright, the snow’s almost melting turning the white into black. Black slush slouching under their feet.

“Where do you want to go, babe?” Harry asks as he opens the door for Louis and closing it when he’s situated himself in the seat. He does the same and then their off on the busy road, can’t be more than 3 pm, rush hour.

“Home’s just fine,” Louis mumbles so quietly that Harry’s instantly off-kilter; stopping the car on the side of the road. He ignores Louis’ groan as he takes his hands in his.

“Louis look at me,” Harry asks politely because Louis’ staring out the window like he’s interested in it; like he’s dissecting something. Harry moves his head with his chin, making Louis look down before sighing and looking at him properly. His eyes are sad, eyebrows pulled together miserably.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into the small space of the car. Harry doesn’t like this car, not at all. When he takes Louis to New York he’s going to buy two plane tickets, first class because Louis doesn’t deserve anything less. They’re going to film the clouds moving and the way the sun would probably look so much closer because Harry just _knows_ how much he loves the sun. They’d be happier, _better_.

“Sorry for what? S’nothing to be sorry about.”

“I’m sorry you have to deal with me,” Louis says dropping his eyes to their clasped hands. He’s going to pull away so Harry fastens his grip harder.

“No Lou, don’t apologize, there’s nothing to apologize for. You’re not a burden, never a burden. I don’t _deal_ with you at all, don’t think that.” Louis looks up at him reluctantly and offers a small smile.

“Can we go home,” Louis insists and Harry complies, taking the car out of park and slipping onto the road. He avoids running into traffic by taking back roads; looking at the business people milling around. The sun's bright but there's still snow on the ground. The car vibrates every time the tires hit a block of ice. Harry tries to ignore the way Louis tenses when the car swerves momentarily on black ice. His eyes go wide and his white knuckled fists hold on to Harry's thigh like it'd save him, his cheeks hollow from where he knows he's biting the inside of his cheeks. It's a bad habit that Harry finds himself mimicking and every time he tastes the coppery taste of blood because he bit too hard he promises himself to stop it but he never does. Harry pretends not see the flutter of Louis' eyelashes when he closes his eyes out of fear like he's waiting for the windshield to burst right in front of him and puncture him all over because it breaks his heart.They’re home within fifteen minutes and he thinks that maybe they're both relieved for the very same reason. 

Harry opens his door and after turning off the car, they trudge through the deep snow until the shoveled trail makes it easier as they walk up the steps.  


When they reach the house, they strip out of their wet coats and Louis goes straight to the living room putting on the sports channel and lying down. Gemma’s there too but she gets up to follow Harry upstairs to the hallway like they usually do when they stop by the doctor.

“What’d he say?”

“He prescribed,” Harry takes the pharmacy slip from his pocket where he neatly folded it, “paroxetine. We could pick it up in three days at the local pharmacy. Gets rid of his illusions but the side effects are thoughts of suicide and it could make him sad for no reason.” He looks at Gemma sadly but Gemma doesn’t catch it.

“That’s all then?”

“What do you mean ‘That’s all then’? Suicidal thoughts is a pretty big deal, Gem. I think it’s safer to stick with the medication he’s already on.”

“Almost every medication has that as a side effect Harry. It is what it is, if he does have those thoughts, we’d know and we’ll report it to the doctor.” Harry nods mainly because the televisions being turned off in the distance and he suspects Louis’ making his way to the bathroom to take a bath.

“We have to keep a close eye on him then,” Harry says finally and dashes to their room’s bathroom stripping his clothes as he does so.

“Pick up your clothes,” Gemma grumbles and Louis appears at the top of the stairs. His eyes sparkling with mischief that Gemma couldn't help but smile at him. Louis grandly returned it as he got closer to her. 

“How’d he know?” Louis whines his complaint but he doesn't look _that_ bothered. Shadows danced across his face as he walked past her, feet pattering quietly across the creaking floorboards. 

“I don’t know," she confesses, "I think he heard you turn off the television." Before she can even finish, Louis was dashing into their room and she walked away shaking her head amusedly. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, I'll update soon. The chapter was small because I have classes, trigonometry tests to barely pass and of course homework. I'll try to update every-so-often.


	3. I'll Taste The Devil's Tears, Drink From His Soul But I'll Never Give Up You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Lou, buckle up," Harry says while moving out onto the road. The sun's going down slowly; casting dark shadows where the light can't touch. It's beautiful really, it reminds Harry of the Lion King and how the first time he'd seen it, it was with Louis. Gemma was there too but Harry ignores that bit. 
> 
> "No," he answers sternly and Harry knows this bit all too well. Such an ugly one, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Angus and Julia Stone's The Devil's Tears, just a song recommendation. I've got a economics exam to study for so that's why it's a little short. its longer than the last one though, so yay. So like I keep stressing, call me out if I've got something majorly or not-so-majorly wrong, I would really appreciate it. I would also appreciate it if you commented what you think so far. I don't know how to reply but to the two people who /did/ comment, thank you v much.

“Waiting are they? Well, let 'em wait.”

—

 _GENERAL ETHAN ALLAN, last words in response to his doctor saying, "General, I fear the angels are waiting for you."_  
  


Louis' been off his pill all week and its driving Harry crazy as its driving Louis insane. Louis hasn't genuinely smiled sine the last third day he hadn't taken the pill and it was only provoked by Harry falling and hitting himself. Louis had laughed but then it was like something clicked in his head telling him not to be happy because instantly he had frowned unpleasantly. He apologized to Harry three times that time although Harry didn't mind; was rather happy he had laughed. 

They're in the car now driving to the nearest pharmacy Dr. Calvin sent the medicine to. Louis, of course, is moping in his passenger seat looking rather exhausted as he stares at the scenery he's seen since he was probably six. 

"Don't worry Lou, we'll go to New York someday. Different places, different people. You'll be happy," Harry says with such sureness that Louis looks up at him with something sparking in his eyes. 

"Yeah," he agrees but it sounds more of a question. Harry takes his hand in his and squeezes it reassuringly, swiftly before the car halts in front of the dingy pharmacy. The light adorning the shop are twitching and Harry thinks of those zombie movies he used to see as a child with his friends of the deserted pharmacy stores. He remembers being fifteen and pretending to be into girls; allowing them to curl themselves against his chest while watching said movies feigning fear of the undead. He’d convinced himself that the smoothness of their hair was pleasant, that their long eyelashes were desirable, and that their soft fingertips was something he craved but. But he really likes boys; he likes _Louis_. He likes that his fingertips are rough and that his hair is sometimes dry at the ends and soft at the roots; he likes that Louis’ eyelashes are longer than any other girls’ eyelashes he’s ever see. He likes the facial hairs Louis grows around his chin and cheeks, especially the way it feels when Louis wakes him up with the little hairs rubbing against the inside of his thighs.

Louis brings him out of his daze by tugging at the hem of his coat sleeve. His nimble fingers find their way around his wrist and Harry thinks fleetingly that he also likes the way Louis fits with him like a puzzle piece.

They're on a first name basis with the store clerk, Sandra her name is. Always polite and never privy because she believes "I’m too old to be putting my two senses into other peoples' lives". That doesn't stop her from always gushing over Louis and Harry when they walk through the doors hand in hand. 

"Well if it isn't Mister and Mister Tomlinson," she coos at the sight before disappearing behind silvery metal doors leaving a lingering breeze in her place from the swinging doors. She returns within moments with a paper white bag carrying Louis' medication. Her nails are perfectly manicured with clear nail polish to top it off.

"Doctor Calvin wanted me to relay the message that if this prescription has any negative side affects you are to tell him and he'll put Louis," her gaze shifts from Harry to Louis who's avoiding her gaze, " _you_ , back on the previous one. You've got it?"

"Mhm," Louis mumbles and she gives him a pointed look. He’s scuffing his black boot over each other like a child.

"I can't hear you hun."

"Yes ma'am," Louis looks up with a smile on his lips that looks too tight to be organic but that's going to change as soon as he takes his new pills. At least Harry hopes.

"Alright then gentlemen, your insurance paid it off so you're welcome to move it along. Take care of each other, s'all you've got," she says offering a wise smile. Harry wouldn't take it any less, a woman of her age should be wise. She seems like she knows more then what she lets on and Harry wishes to grow as old as her just for the mere possibility of knowing what she knows now. He faintly remembers her mentioning that her husband and she got a divorce a year after getting married which is a shame because Sandra still has pictures of him littering her desk and the wall behind where she stands.

She’s got her lips pursed like she’s dying to say something.

“What is it?” Harry asks with amusement lingering his tone. She breaks a smile then, one that takes over her entire face.

“None of your business,” she tells him, “can’t I just smile at you guys?”

“I mean, of course, but it’s a little creepy, isn’t it?”

“You guys are lovely, I mean it, take care of each other,” she looks between them until they’ve both nodded before turning around and disappearing behind the metal doors.

Louis waves and he's out the door before Harry could even catch his hand in his; before he can even open the door for him. They both walk towards the car, Louis making it first and he settles himself in the seat while Harry's going in. 

"Lou, buckle up," Harry says while moving out onto the road. The sun's going down slowly; casting dark shadows where the light can't touch. It's beautiful really, it reminds Harry of the Lion King and how the first time he'd seen it, it was with Louis. Gemma was there too but Harry ignores that bit. 

"No," he answers sternly and Harry knows this bit all too well. Such an ugly one, too. Because one time Louis had told him that he wouldn't mind dying, he wouldn't make any moves if a tragic accident were to come his way. In fact, Louis said that buckling his seat belt would save his life and if an accident were to occur he didn't want to stop it from taking his life. Harry was sad, disgusted even, and he didn't know how to react because it wasn't Louis' fault that he felt that way. He'd been through a car accident before, with Garret. Garret who loved life and always told Louis to buckle up before the ignition was even on. Garret who had been driving three years ago with Louis in the passenger who was forcefully wearing his seat belt while Garret wasn't because he forgot one night.

 _One night_ and that's all it took to regret it. It changed everything because as glass sputtered everywhere impaling Louis with sharp blades and eliciting blossom red beneath his skin and the fucking air to leave his lungs all at once, Garret was dead within seconds. His head had hit the windshield and his airbag suffocated him like a plastic bag would over someone's head. Only the airbag was meant to save his life not take it. So there Louis was, stinging and his life hanging from the seat belt that kept him from falling on the sharpest piece of glass aimed right at his heart. And Louis just knew he was supposed to die that night not his boyfriend. _Louis doesn't like wearing seat belts._  

"Louis put it on," Harry sighs and puts his hand on his boyfriend's lap softly. There aren't much cars on the road probably because the people have already arrived at their destination hours ago. Harry rolls Louis' window down because he likes the way his hair flies everywhere and how his eyes close from the assaulting wind like he's calm. He thinks Louis likes it too. 

"Harry, I don't think I want to take the pill," Louis says at once while keeping his eyes on his lap. He's fiddling with his fingers nervously. 

"Why not?" He's going to take the damn pills no matter what. 

"Do you think they'd work? Honesty, Harry, honesty is all I want."

"You always have my honesty, not sure if I have yours though. Louis, how do you feel right now?"

"Like shit Harry, do you even have to ask? I'm not going to miraculously get better and pills don't help. They. Don't. Help. And every time I go on a different pill I feel like I've disappointed you and Gems because of it," Louis speaks quietly but with conviction and Harry's afraid. Hurt and afraid.

"You'd only ever disappoint us if you don't tell us how you feel, okay? We don't care if we have to spend a lifetime looking for something that makes you comfortable, alright? Louis, we all feel like shit when you’re not you,” Harry softly consoles as he puts the heater on and rolls the windows up. Winter wind is still biting at their skin; chilling frigid air caressing them. Fog covers the windows and dense humidity all around. The rest of the drive home is filled with silence and heavy breathing; Harry’s fingers lightly pattering against the steering wheel to a nonexistent beat. So when the car halts and they step out of it and Louis speaks, Harry’s startled.

“Thank you,” he says before disappearing into the house. Harry’s not sure what exactly he’s saying it for and he doesn’t like it because it’s insinuating that he doesn’t have to do what he’s been doing. He loves being with Louis, he loves the strong emotions that come with him even though they can be gruesome.

When he finally walks through the door and Louis sits himself on the couch, Harr gives his sister a kiss on the forehead. She’s on her phone, probably Twitter, but she puts it down when they sit down on the couch beside her.

“The heater’s not working,” she sighs to Louis who leans his head against her shoulder blade, “you can be my cuddle pal for the night. She feels his muffled agreement against her skin and smiles.

“Great,” she adds, “so all we have to do is address the elephant in the room which is who will be Harrys’?’

“Louis of course,” Harry chides in, “we have the portable heater, you know? Two, actually.”

“So let’s plug them both up in the living room and camp down here for the night,” she suggests and both boys nod. Harry silently gets up without disturbing the calming feeling that’s settled. He returns with blankets in tow and two grey floor heater. Gemma grabs on and wraps it around her and Louis; Louis’ head limp on her chest and eyes sealed closed. She ignores Harry’s pleas to switch places, definitely ignores his pout. They fall asleep with the lights on and so warm that Harry already knows they’ll peal their blankets off and on throughout the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave comments and kudos please. You can always talk to me through tumblr at trytoescapeit. Stay safe, people and friendly reminder that depression should not be romanticized at all, ever.


	4. He Always Said He Didnt Get This Song, But I Do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is form Taylor Swift's song Begin Again which is an actual gem, god bless that whole album.   
> This is such a short chapter and I feel like they sleep more often then not but that's a symptom of depression and I don't want to rush in to all the drama just yet because it's only chapter four so please bare with me. Enjoy this fluff for like two to five more chapters and then you can get out your Kleenexes because I'm not killing Louis off but he's gonna suffer just a little, sorry. Harry'll suffer too but this will literally come later on.  
> Please leave comments, I was so sad the other day that no one commented, genuinely sad. Talk to me guys; talk to me on tumblr at trytoescapeit and on here and on my wattpad at liamslips.

“My God. What’s happened?”

—

PRINCESS DIANA SPENCER, _last words as her car swerved and crashed in a tunnel_

Louis wakes up first, the morning sun has barely shone through the living room window and it’s quiet. Groaning, he squints because no one turned the lights off last night; he thinks his corneas just might burn. He struggles off of Gemma and fastens the blanket on her before walking to the kitchen. The floor’s warm beneath his feet from the heaters, in fact he’s sweating obscenely. Maybe he shouldn’t have put that blanket on Gems, the thought was kind at least. The pharmacy bag lays lifelessly on the countertop and Louis finds it ironic that it’s meant to revive _his_. He pops two breads in the toaster and while they’re in there, he gets jelly and a glass of cup out. If he doesn’t eat now, Harry’ll force him to eat a grand meal consisting of foods Louis never thought existed because really, what the _hell_ is pomegranate?

When the toast pops up, Louis takes the hot things in his bare hands willing himself not to drop them because that’d be rather tragic, unfortunate. He lathers them with jam and sets the knife on the marble. He only eats one and a half but it’s enough to take his pill so… The paper crinkles as he takes the bottle out of the bag and it opens so easily that he whines internally because three years ago opening these bottles was hard. The pill’s a chalky white and small so when he throws his head bag and gulps the water it doesn’t feel as uncomfortable. He already feels himself relaxing, a feeling he’s not sure he likes or not.

“Lou, it’s six in the morning,” Harry’s voice startles him. Louis whips around to see Harry in his boxers, one socked foot. His hair’s messy and Louis still wonders why Harry stays; Gemma too. Sometimes he feels like a burdened child.

“I just took the pill,” he mutters and he doesn’t miss Harry’s eyes widening a fraction, “you look like a right mess this morning.”

“That’s because _I_ usually wake up first,” he says and makes his way to stand beside the other, “are you feeling any different?”

Shrugging his shoulders Louis walks around him, “I just took it. I mean when I woke up, I felt fine.”

Harry plants a small kiss on the top of his head, “Your hair looks like birds nest every morning.”

“Well your hair looks like a bad wig. I’m going to go take a shower, I’m locking the door so don’t try to come in.” He hears Harry groan but ignores it in favor of going into the shower. He’ll never understand just how Harry can even wake up so god damn early. It’s rather ludicrous. He rummages through the dresser and collects dark blue boxers and grey sweatpants, he doesn’t bother looking for a shirt though. After all, both of the Styles siblings have seen him naked. One willingly and the other unfortunately walked in on him while he was taking a shower. He can’t remember if he had been crying though, he faintly remembers tasting salt water on his lips. He thinks he may even remember Gemma running to him frantically but memories were fuzzy and medications are to blame.

So now Louis is stood under the shower head with his forehead against the cool wet tiled wall. The waters hot and fog is rising all around him like Sleepy Hallows on Halloween. He feels clean with the water running down his back and his face, so much _cleaner_. He can already tell the new pills won’t help him, usually the medication helps him almost instantly but this one still hasn’t kicked in. He won’t tell Gemma or Harry that just yet though; he can always see their exhaustion when he requests different ones. He hears their argumentative whispers about him too and he doesn’t like that much. Their too lovely to him. He kind of wish they weren’t so maybe he can make a run for it, never look back. A loud knock on the door sounds.

“Louis hurry up, I would also like to take a shower. I think Gemma’s germs are off of you now.”

“I’m trying to wash _your_ germs off of me,” Louis relents as he shuts the water off, “you kissed my hair with your smelly morning breath.”

“Have you even ever smelt yours? Oh god, it’s the smelliest thing I’ve ever smelt. You know that smell you get when you pass an ocean or something in a car and it smells like rotten eggs, it’s worse than that.”

Louis chuckles, “yours smells like a skunk crawled in there and died.”

“Well then open up so I can brush my teeth.” Harry can hear shuffling on the other side of the door and then the door’s flung open exposing a wet apprehensive-looking Louis. He still has soap in his hair and Harry wonders if he knows this. Louis smiles though so he smiles back instantly.

“I’m sorry,” he says still holding that smile that makes his apology a little less genuine looking but Harry’s going to accept it because it’s by Louis, “your breath doesn’t smell _that_ bad.”

“Do you need a towel?” Harry asks when he takes in the appearance of Louis. Water rolls down his body from his wet hair and although the drops that cling to his eyelashes make his eyes bluer, it looks rather uncomfortable like the drops will pull an eyelash into them. Louis' sill smiling up at him. He looks hesitant like he's not sure if he's allowed to smile. He keeps a smile upon his face nonetheless and Harry has weird sense that it's for his sake rather than his own.

“I’ve got one,” he assures, pushing Harry to the side and making his way to the bedroom where he locks the door. Harry hears the lock switch off and he hears Louis’ exasperated sigh of something much like exhaustion. He should drop it and leave space for Louis, after all no one expects him to just be happy, but he can’t. Harry walks to the room and lightly knocks on the door, the bathroom lights all on and forgotten.

“Hey Lou, how’re you feeling?”

“Harry, I’m fine; I’ll live,” the voice on the other side says not convincing at all. He can picture Louis sitting on the foot of his bed staring at his fingers or having his fingernails create half-moons onto the soft skin of his palms.

“Well what does ‘fine’ feel like today?” There’s dried paint splatters on the door like it was dripping wile drying. That’s Harry’s second favorite part of the house, he doesn’t know why.

“Like, I just want to sleep all day and be alone,” he admits, voice dripping with sorrow.

“That’s okay, you can do that,” Harry rushes, “not that you need my approval because you don’t. I mean you can feel like that and not feel guilty because that’s what you want, okay?” Harry waits for Louis’ small ‘mhm’ of agreement before sliding down the door to sit in the hallway. His legs are spread out and he hadn’t noticed just how dirty the floor was until he could feel dust beneath his palms.

“Hey, Haz?” Louis asks from the other side of the door. he sounds skeptical and his voice is closer.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t think I want to be alone, maybe just sleep and not talk?”

“Anything you want,” Harry says rising to his feet just in time for Louis to be swinging the door open slowly. His hair’s dripping making his forehead glisten and his neck to his collarbones glow. Harry wants to gather the moisture on his tongue or have his hair absorb it but instead he leans down and gathers Louis in a tight hug that makes Louis groan out in pain.

“Uhg, Harry,” he complains groggily, “try not to break me, yeah?”

“I would never,” Harry tells him and drops a kiss on his lips, Louis’ lips are so soft. So impossibly soft. Harry still remember there first, Louis had been drinking orange juice spiked with vodka claiming it’s “just a juice seasoning I can handle liquor very well”. He drank probably three that night and already his eyes were getting foggy but just as bright and wide. He took Harry by the shirt, his little palm wrapped in his shirt material dragging him down. Louis’ lips felt like a flutter of the softest martial, like a feather only with a larger impact.

“You taste like orange juice and vodka,” Harry had whispered against his lips. He saw the goosebumps rise on Louis’ skin then.

“And you taste like sobriety,” Louis had whispered back and kissed Harry again.

“Can you just sleep with me without talking, no questions just sleep?” Louis’ asking him now with a raised eyebrow. Harry nods fast and steps into the room. He’s not tired, can’t understand why Louis’ tired but he walks to the bed anyway and wraps himself in blankets. He tries ignore the shaking of his boyfriend, the sniffles that keep getting more frequent as time goes by. He tries to ignore the way Louis subtly shuffles closer to him for his warmth because Louis’ cold; fingertips and feet.

“I love you,” Harry whispers but Louis just nods and just sniffles.

“You’re alright yourself,” Louis says back and Harry smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment please, pretty please, leaving kudos would be really nice too. Tell me if I said something really offensive, it's not offensive to tell me if I'm way off and should just delete this story, okay? I have many other prompts saved onto my phone and computer with some chapters already written that I can just switch off with this one. Please Comment and sorry for the late update, I've got a Spanish test and my madre didn't teach me when I was younger so I'm just terrible at the language.


	5. Then Confusion And The Doubts You Had, Up and Walk Away, They Walk Away When A Heart Breaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis' sad, Harry stays, and Gemma goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title is from Ben Rector's When A Heart Breaks, just a song recommendation.  
> Thank you to the lovely people who commented, it's very encouraging. To be honest, I thought my writing style made everything vague and a bit boring so thank you. Please comment some more and tell me if I've offended people with depression. And I'm pretty sure I failed my Spanish test which kind of sucks but I've got all year to make up for it. Sorry the chapter was short, it's the weekend so I'll be able to write more and update sooner especially with the cliff-hanger I left off at.

“The earth is suffocating… Swear to make them cut me open, so that I won’t be buried alive.”

—

FREDERIC CHOPIN, _last words before dying of tuberculosis_

 

At first, Harry doesn't know _what_ woke him up. His cheek is pressed against his white crisp pillow and his hair is tickling his cheek. He reaches his hand to scratch it but mid-way he notices that the spot where Louis should be is completely empty, the dents where his body should be taking his place. Then he hears a sniffling and a soft _shh_ afterwards and all of a sudden his face is pale because he knows exactly what's woken him up in the first place.

He sits up fast and paddles outside the bedroom door to look over the staircase to see what's going on downstairs because he's absolutely sure Louis’ crying. Mumble after mumble get clearer until Harry's caught something and stands still. The heels of his feet are holding most of his weight so he splays the palm of his hand against the wall.

"You're gonna wake 'em up," Louis' whispering but his voice quivers. Harry can picture him with his hands wrapped around his upper body and hair a mess and stringy like it gets when he's just woken up. 

"I should wake him up," Gemma almost whimpers and Harry loses his balance for a half a second; just barely catches himself before he falls face first. Louis mumbles something unintelligible that Harry wishes he had caught because then he hears his sister struggling with her sobs. It’s a nasty sound that makes him cover his ears and sink to the ground so he doesn’t have to worry about falling over. He's only ever seen his sister cry a total of two times is the thing. And that was when they were younger and couldn’t really express sadness in any other way.

He remembers being twelve and wondering why his asshole of a sister was sitting on the kitchen table chewing her pencil while reading over notes. Her hair had been brown like his then and she yelled at him for walking in on her just wheezing. Of course Harry had asked her why she was crying and when she yelled at him some more to mind his own business, he walked away and snuck into her room to read her fury pink diary with her sloppy, in between script and print handwriting. She used to hide it under the radiator or under her mattress, never changed it up like she should have done. He took the book and read it with so much difficulty he almost gave up but then words started sticking out to him. _Boyfriend_ then things he couldn't understand _breaking up_ and then some more _cheater_ until finally he put it down when he heard footsteps. He placed the thing back under the heater and sat cross-legged on her bed waiting for her to walk in and scold him. It never came though; she’d walked in and saw him sitting there and just sat beside him to cry some more. 

The second time she cried was when Harry was sixteen and just admitted to his whole school that he liked boys. Of course it was unwilling, he was more forced to admit it when he was caught kissing another boy from another school which kind of sucked. The guy he liked couldn't even be there with him as he was shoved into metal lockers that were too cold in the winter and too hot in the summer. He was alone when the boys in the locker room called him bad names like pervert or fag. But he didn't tell his family because they didn't think it was wrong for him to be gay and he somehow got it into his head that if they heard the horrible things said to him, they'd change their opinion. So no one knew. Until one day he came home sporting a pretty purple color blossoming around his eye from the blood vessels they had popped and a magnificent red from the too much pressure on his jaw that it had split open. No one knew about the dark blue bruises and red irritated trails under shirt from where they kicked him and scratched him until they got tired and decided that they were done with him. 

That day Gemma cried so hard and clutched their mother's car keys because she'd just gotten her driver’s license. She yelled at him a little bit for not defending herself and then she yelled at their mother for not reprimanding him for not doing so. After silence endured around them, she ran out the door and when the engine started and gravel crunched under plastic tires, his mom walked to him and kissed his forehead lightly. 

Harry doesn't know what happened that night till this day but the fact that Gemma came home sporting a bruise that looked a lot like his and the boys at school ignored him. They didn't apologize or even look his way. 

"Gemma," Louis sighs defeated. There's a light tapping that sound a lot like long nails against a wooden table. 

"I can't believe this is happening. Why don't we all just go out and hurt ourselves, yeah? Since you can do it, why can't we, huh?" Gemma asks frantically. Harry can hear a screeching of a chair being pushed back and then silverware being moved around. Louis' gasp can be heard from upstairs and he takes that as his cue to pick himself up on shaky legs and run down the stairs. 

The sight in front of him is a mess; a frantic horrible mess. Gemma's holding a large knife against her chest like she's waiting for the wrong thing to be said to just drive the think through to her heart. She's got one eyebrow raised like a warning and Harry stops in his track. 

"Put the damn thing down," Harry nearly shouts and Louis whips around from his seat at the kitchen table to stare at Louis. They've both then crying still. Louis subtly covers his hand with his other but the move already looks suspicious enough for Harry to walk over to him and grab the hidden hand. 

"Ow, fuck. Can you be a tad bit careful, I'm not invincible," he whines and Gemma groans in frustration. 

"Well you could have fooled me," she tells him before turning to Harry; she sets the knife down with a clunk, "you're boyfriend's a stupid selfishness bastard."

Harry ignores her in favor of examining a large burn mark across the outside of his wrist. The skin is red and he can see little ulcers already beginning to form. Dropping the hand immediately, he kneels down to look into Louis’ eyes. They’re a glistening bright blue today.

“What happened, baby? He asks softly. His fingers run over Louis’ thigh softly; tracing shapeless images across it. Louis looks away.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Louis tells him as Gemma leaves the room. Harry calls his name softly until Louis’ looking at him once again looking like he’s close to vomiting.

“What happened?”

“It was an accident, Haz. I burned my hand by an accident and Gemma caught me with my hand under the facet like I had a gun in my hand,” Louis mumbles. Harry could see him running his little fingers across the burn with barely any pressure.

“S’not going to happen again, right? Are you feeling okay?” He gets up to walk toward the cabinet to find their first aid-kit. It’s a little dusty and when he picks it up, he walks back towards to Louis.

Louis sticks out his hand wordlessly; allows Harry to inspect it and apply a cream to it to bring down the burn. Then he allows him to wrap up the injured body part. They sit there in silence just staring at each other until they both hear an engine starting and a car rolling out of the lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise to write more next time. Please comment and tell me what you think even if it's a little negative feedback.


	6. Red Wine and Ambien, You're Talking Shit Agian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis meets a new friend and Harry's happy Louis' happy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER WARNING: MENTIONS OF PAST SELF-HARM.  
> the chapter starts off sad but it gets happier, promise.  
> Yay, this chapter's long. No one commented on my last chapter :(. Comment please and tell me what you think. Tell me if I've got something totally wrong, too. My tumblr's always open to you lovely people at trytoescapeit. You can literally tell me about your day and I'd be happy to entertain you.  
> Chapter title is from John Mayer's Heartbreak Warfare, song rec. Leave kudos and comment pretty please and thanks for reading.

“I am not the least afraid to die.”

— CHARLES DARWIN, April 19, 1882

Harry's on his feet within minutes, Louis staring at the door with wide eyes. He feels guilty like he'd done something wrong and he supposes he did. His finger nails graze the burn harshly just once before he retracts it because he refuses to hurt himself.

"I didn't do it intentionally," Louis pleads, wrapping his arms around his upper body like he's trying to keep the pieces of himself together unsuccessfully.

"No, it's alright. S'not your fault, she's just in a mood," Harry hurriedly assures, "why don't you go watch some television in the room while I make dinner," he suggests.

Louis complies, standing up because he created such a mess without even meaning to. He can feel his boyfriend's eyes on his back as he leaves like it's burning his skin. When he exits the kitchen though, he sits himself against the hallway floor with his fingers tangled in the rough but smooth hair. It's turning a light brown that Louis doesn't really like but he can't bother himself enough to care all that much at the moment. Harry's got his phone on speaker and the dial tone is ringing through the apartment. "What Harry?" The familiar voice is saying. It settles something nasty at the bottom of Louis' stomach. Something a lot like despair.

"What the hell was that?" Harry whisper-yells. Louis can hear persistent thuds, probably a knife slicing vegetables against the cutting board. He'd join him in making dinner but he feels exhausted and a lot like a person who should be quarantined so he stays put.

"Was what? I felt like I should leave before I say something that I don't mean, I did nothing wrong," Gemma tells him in a canny voice. The chopping stops momentarily.

"Well you made Louis feel bad anyway," Harry tells her and the faucet is turned on. He hisses probably because the water was too hot. Louis isn't even offended that they don't trust him. A year ago he was so deep into self-harming that he was an expert at hiding it. Right under his bicep were cuts by razors, his thighs bared marks that looked like half-moons from his nails, and his palms had been cut by paper clips. They didn't find out until the doctors did during his yearly checkup.

"Harry, Louis is strong. He's strong and he'll get over it."

"Where're you going?" "I'm staying over Zayn's house," Gemma explains, "It has nothing to do with Louis I've been thinking of leaving for a couple of days anyway. He invited the two of you too but considering recent events I think you guys should stay," she talks a mile a minute like she just wants the conversation to end.

Louis lifts himself from the floor and walks to the closet where he knows Harry placed his shoes.

The door creaks lowly and the floorboards dip where he steps but he continues on until he's cot his boots clutched in his hands and his coat in the other. He sets the shoes down to wrap his coat around himself, still wet from the day before. When he's zippered the thing securely, he slips his feet in the shoes having a harder time then necessary to fit his heel through the opening.

Silently, he grabs his phone and walks to the front door; slipping through until his feet hit the fluffy snow. He feels the cold curl around his cheeks and ears; stuffs his hands in his pockets and keeps walking down the street. It's busy with people milling around to go home and even though the sun is out, it does nothing to warm his skin.

He trudged through, steps in a few dirty puddles and he doesn't exactly know where he's going just that he's walking forward. There are children ahead of him grabbing just-fallen snow from the floor and mushing it together until it's an almost circle. One boy throws the snow at the other, laughing when it hits his friend in the face. Then an adult woman scolds them and they're walking ahead. Louis sighs and rubs his cheeks to put some heat on them.

"Do you wanna borrow my scarf? It's a little wet because I got caught up in the snow earlier but it'd do more than what you have," a soft voice says beside him. Louis turns his head to find a boy around his age with a burgundy at on that barely shows his brown hair. He's got a kind smile and he's unwrapping his scarf like his sole purpose is to help strangers.

"I'm fine," Louis assures and the boy's eyebrows knit together, his brown eyes a little unsure.

"No you're not. Mate, your cheeks are a deep red and you're neck is exposed. Why don't you just zipper it so you don't get sick?" Nimble fingers move up to Louis' coat and the boy is zipping it to cover his exposed skin. All he can do is stare and when the fingers fall he resumes his walking with the stranger walking beside him.

"I'm Liam by the way," he says, British accent heavy.

"Louis," he says politely. Liam's not even wearing boots, just converse that look so soaked that his feet are probably wet. He doesn't seem bothered though, still has a smile on his face.

"It's so cold, right? I'm not used to this weather because like I just moved here from down south. Haven't seen snow since I was sixteen and still in Wolverhampton."

"I knew you're accent was from somewhere around there," Louis says, "not much Brits here."

"Not much people around my age here either," Liam adds as an afterthought, "you're the first one to make an appearance in a week. Do you guys just hide out or something?"

Louis smiles, "we hold daily clubs where we don't go outside and watch old people not interact with each other unless it's to bicker."

"I was at the supermarket the other day and this old woman was yelling at a man about how he took out the last prune juice. She was livid, mate. Just ridiculous."

"That's why we don't go outside," he whispers like a secret. It's begun to snow again, some flakes getting stuck in their hairs. Louis doesn't see it coming when a wet scarf comes around his neck and a rough fingertips brush over his cheeks swiftly. Louis flinches a little because rough is a weird feeling against his skin, so used to soft fingertips.

"I'm starved, do you want to go eat something? There's this little chipotle down this way we can just grab something?" Louis nods because when he left, Harry was just cooking dinner and he's really hungry.

“I’ve never had Chipotle before,” he admits quietly. He can see the little restaurant coming up on his left. It’s a small little place that always has the area smelling of spicy foods.

“You’re going to love it,” Liam tells his excitedly like he’s genuinely happy, “I mean only if you like Mexican food. If not, we can just grab a sandwich from the deli. It’s close too.”

“No, it’s alright. Just haven’t gotten around to eating new foods,” he shrugs his shoulders. The sun’s going down and Louis wonders if Harry’s noticed he’s gone. If he’s worried and mad. He hopes he’s not, he doesn’t deserve Harry.

“Hey, you look a little glum, you sure you’re okay? There’s got to be a reason why this is the first time I’ve seen you out here. What drove you out here, Louis?”

They’ve reached the restaurant and Liam holds the glass door open for him before following him inside. He picks a little booth in the front near the window so he can look out. Outside looks really pretty; winter would be his favorite season if it weren’t so cold and he wasn’t always sick during it. His depression acts up around this time of year.

“I’ll go order us some food, because you haven’t eaten here before, I’ll order something simple for you. It’ll be a little surprise. Then you’re going tell me what’s got you all sad.” He’s walking away before Louis can even get a word in but he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t know how to respond anyway. He’s twiddling his fingers on the table top when his phone starts buzzing. It’s persistent giving him no choice but to retrieve the thing from his pocket. The caller ID shows Hazbi and Louis smiles to himself. He remembers the night he changed it from Harry S.

Bambi was on. The colors of the film looking magnificent on Harry’s face. The scene with Bambi trying to walk came on just when Harry got up to get the popcorn out of the microwave and the two fell in sync. Louis laughed of course because his boyfriend is so clumsy but he helped him get up afterwards and that night as he got into his bed, he took his phone out and changed the name.

The caller ID disappears as it goes to voicemail just as Liam comes back holding a bag in one hand.

“My friend Niall just called talking about how he’s close to eating our pet lobster. I’ve got to go save poor Sebastian. He’s been trying to get the poor thing drenched in butter, over my dead body,” Liam says as he approaches, “I’ve got you something to eat though and I would still like to know what’s bothering you so I scribbled my number in the inside of the bag, hope you don’t think that’s weird.”

“Is your lobster named after the lobster from the Little Mermaid,” Louis asks with a smile.

“Was expecting that reference to go right over your head,” he sets one of the two paper bags on the table top, “glad it wasn’t wasted on you.”

“Of course not,” Louis stands up, “okay, well make sure Niall doesn’t eat poor Seba. Y’know, Sebastian wasn’t a lobster, right? He was a crab.”

“No he wasn’t, Louis. He was a crab, I’m pretty sure.”

“No, mate. You should brush up on your Disney,” Louis says putting his phone in his pocket.

“It was DreamWorks, what’re you talking about?” Liam inquires with disbelief lacing his tone.

“You’re going to have me in tears; Disney produced the Little Mermaid,” they both walk to the exit as Louis fishes in his pocket to retrieve a ten dollar bill. He’s heard Chipotle is pretty expensive. When he finds the bill and they’re walking back in the direction they came from Louis hands the ten to Liam.

“For the meal,” Louis explains when Liam scrunches his eyebrow.

“I’m not going to let you pay. I invited you, after all. I must go now, I really don’t want to find out if Niall was just joking or not,” he says as he turns left leaving Louis to walk straight by himself. His phone’s ringing again but he he’ll be home soon. The sun is faintly glowing now, leaving the street lamps the only source of light to help him navigate safely.

The familiar house comes into view and he notices that he’s still got Liam’s scarf around his neck. It has a plaid red and black pattern; reminds him of something Gemma would wear. When he walks through the front door, Harry’s already by his side with a disapproving look but relief is flooding it.

“Where’d you go? You didn’t pick up your phone, I thought something bad happened to you,” Harry tells him as he goes to unzip Louis’ wet clothes and unwrap the foreign scarf from around his neck.

“Nice scarf,” Harry tells him as he hangs the clothes up before bringing Louis into a warm hug that warms him up better than winter scarves and coats.

“I got Chipotle,” Louis tells him and when Harry smiles, he feels a drastic change from sadness to happy.

“You don’t even like spicy foods, Lou.”

“I’m open to new things,” he smiles as he takes the container out. He sees Liam’s scribbled number on the inside of the bag and decides that he’ll copy the number in his phone later because Liam was good company and seemed like he’d keep Louis’ secrets. A friend who wouldn’t worry too much about him.

Harry gets out two plates and utensils as Louis gets out the mysterious food. It looks like chicken and rice with seasoning; he hesitantly tries some with Harry looking at him encouragingly.

“Do you like it?”

“Why don’t you try it?” Louis fires back holding back on using his facial features to hint on whether he likes it or not.

“What if it’s nasty?” Harry tells him frowning. Louis smiles.

“You only made me try it so I can tell you if it tastes good or not,” he accuses and sends Harry to a chuckle.

“You do the same to me,” he says and takes a bite of the chicken. When he’s got the chicken in his mouth, Louis finally spits his out with disgust.

“Uhg, that was the nastiest thing I’ve ever tasted,” Louis tells Harry as Harry reluctantly swallows his.

“Oh my god, my taste buds will never recover from this. Jesus, that tastes like shit.” After giggling, Harry gets up to put the food in the fridge claiming that Gemma would eat it when she comes back. The sun’s completely gone down.

“We should watch a movie tonight,” Harry declares, “in celebration of trying something new.”

“What about a Lifetime movie?”

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited for Lilo. Leave comments please and sorry for the late hour update.


	7. Misery's the Moment When I Lost You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis burns , burns, burns and Harry's a good thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am extremely sorry for not updating sooner. I had so many projects and I've been typing up other fics that I'm thinking of posting if I finish them first. Chapter title is from Andrew Belle's Pieces.  
> This chapter is kind of depressing, I'm sorry :/ but it gets better by the end of it sort of.  
> If I offended anyone, you can reach me here or my tumblr trytoescapeit because I don't want to be ignorant.
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos just so I know if you're still reading or not. I really do appreciate comments, they're the best.

“Do you hear the rain? Do you hear the rain?”

—

JESSICA DUBROFF, Minutes before her plane crashed with the storm

**Chapter VII.**

It's four in the morning when Louis wakes up on his bed with Harry not there. He's not there and Louis' cold which means he hasn't been in bed for a while so it's not his fault when he has a twinge of panic run to his gut that only escalates when he unwraps himself from the sheets so walk out of the room. 

The floor's cold and the house seems a lot emptier than it should. Everything's just been feeling emptier lately; it's like an abyss that just keeps on swallowing everything he's used to. Their house has this extra room; it's gathered dust along the curtain. Turns the powder blue walls a darker color as time progresses. It's been untouched for years is the thing, because Harry sleeps with Louis and Gemma sleeps in her own room. It's what they _do;_  so when he sees a light coming from the bedroom it makes him taken-aback and unusually sad. 

It makes him angry too but the sadness is almost palpable. It frustrates him to no end but he walks down the shadowed hall just see if he's got it all wrong. 

Harry's sleeping on the bed curled up to a pillow, face calm and all baby-like. He's the loveliest thing Louis' ever seen, will ever see. Yeah, he's got this long nose and this little beauty mark right next to his mouth. And yeah, Louis never liked beauty marks or noses that weren't button shaped but he's still the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. 

He talks slow too but Louis find himself mouthing words to himself under his breath in the tone Harry would say them. Like when he's folding his clothes in his sloppy style and he imitates the way Harry talks just _because_. Louis' not stupid though; he knows he's the least great thing in the world. With his random bouts of sadness that make him even sadder when he can't even stop it. He should be able to _stop_ it; he should but he can't. He's got this little beauty mark on his back, it's so small, but it's not like Harry’s at all. 

He still feels panicked as he walks down the stairs into the kitchen. It's panic towards nothing specific, he doesn't think. The walls are trapping; suffocating. The familiar ink on the paper brown bag pushes to the forefront of Louis' mind and he doesn't think as he grabs it and recites the number to the dials.  

He hesitates for no less than three minutes before he's pressing the call button and putting the phone to his ear. It rings and rings until there's a hiccup on the other line. 

"He's got a girlfriend," Liam whines through the receiver, "that’d be _cheating_." He talks slowly and his voice gruffer. For a moment, Louis wonders if he dialed the number correctly.

"Have I disrupted something?" He says in lieu of asking whether he’s got the right number.

"Oh," he hears Liam say in a high pitched voice and then, "you're not Niall."

"Mhm," Louis walks outside to the porch with no coat and shoes. He feels like he’s committing a crime but he still sits down on the snow and the burning cold is enough to be used as a distraction.  

"Louis, then?" Liam asks and he sounds too delighted to not be inebriated. Louis smiles a little. He remembers when he was sixteen and being drunk so often that being sober was so rare. He’d go to the liquor shop and flirt his way through a free bottle of vodka that he then took to the parking lot and gulped a little less than half. It burned his throat and he liked it; like flames ignited him inside. He misses the feeling. He’s not sure what made him stop. He could blame it on the people he hung out with but he never had a problem fitting in. People didn’t give him a hard time, he was _happy_.

 "How often do unfamiliar phone numbers call you?”

“You’ve no idea mate,” Liam sighs and then there’s low thunk that sounds like Liam dropped his head down on a hard surface, “you know, I don’t even know what day it is today but I’m pretty sure I have work tomorrow.”

“Then get yourself to bed,” Louis tells him but he doesn’t want to say goodnight yet, he’s only two minutes into the call.

“Why aren’t _you_ in bed?”

“I don’t know,” he lies and draws shapeless figures in the fluffy snow. His skin burn from the biting cold, it really does, but he doesn’t think he really cares enough to go inside. It’s wet and makes him violently shake periodically but then when he runs his hands up and down his body for any type of friction, it’s not that bad. There are lights shining in the distance, red and white, they remind him of an emotion he can’t really explain; an emotion he doesn’t think he’s ever felt or he’s felt too often. 

“Did you enjoy your meal?” 

“No, it tasted like shit,” Louis says quietly, he thinks the receiver picked it up. He doesn’t know when it happened, but when he looks down at the shape he’s drawn, it’s in the shape of a long face and curly hair.

 “Well at least you tried it. It’s good to try something new, expand your horizons and all that, you know? Because if you’re a closed off person, you’ll never know what’ll make you happy. How would anyone know anything about themselves if they don’t experiment?” Louis’ under the impression that he’s not talking about new foods anymore. He really can’t be listening to a stranger’s problems when he’s got problems of his own. He asks anyway because he supposes in order for him to share his problems, he’s going to need Liam’s utmost divine attention. 

“Oh? In that case, who wouldn’t want to know themselves better? I reckon you know someone like that?”

Liam groans low in his throat, “I know this mate I work with in Staples and he’s so gorgeous. He’s got this natural tanned skin and the prettiest brown eyes I’ve ever seen. Louis, this man deserves to be sculpted out of marble so all future generations can marvel at him.”

“Alright, so when does this turn tragically bad?” Louis coughs into his hand, his joints are barely working with him now.

 “He’s got this girlfriend that he’s always talking about with the rest of the employers. Always talking about how they went to high school together, went to prom together, but when people ask if he’d ever marry her, he shrugs his shoulders. And for our Christmas party last year, he almost kissed me. He was drunk but I wasn’t so I couldn’t allow it but he still tried.

“But before I could ask him if he fancied me, he started spewing his guts out right in front of me and slumped to the ground talking about how he feels unhappy sometimes because he’s confused. _Confused_ , can you believe it?” Liam hiccups his words out like he’s close to tears and honestly Louis wouldn’t be surprised if he was.

 “Confused about what?” Conversations like this remind him of middle-schoolers in the back of their classes talking about who cheated on the latest Social Studies test. 

“I don’t even know,” he frustratingly concedes, “just passed out before I could ask and since then we’ve pretended that it never happened. But I just want him to be happy; I want to make him happy.” 

Louis shakes his head to himself. No one should depend on anyone for happiness. He’s the living example for when that goes wrong. At the end of it all, someone’s left a little hollow and bitter. He was left a little hollow and bitter.

“Maybe he needs to take a break and figure himself out,” Louis tells him. He thinks he sounds like a quote from google and cringes. He still thinks it’s true though. When he feels blisters forming where his feet are planted, he thinks it’s time to get back inside.

“I’ve gotta go,” Louis says and hangs up before an interjection can be made. If he could change anything, he’d want to change everything he invested in Garret. It was his happiness and his well-being. It was his piece of mind and wit that made him up. He thinks it died on the side of the road along with his ex-boyfriend. 

When he thinks of him, Louis thinks it’s like cheating on Harry because isn’t it? To think about someone else everyday when you have someone new right beside you who wants a piece of you and for you to have a piece of them; it’s selfish and just not fare. Harry deserves someone who has more of themselves to give and their attention to take pieces of him. 

A weight falls on his shoulder and Louis’ pulled out of his thoughts as he looks up to see Harry looking down at him with his lips set in a straight line. 

“What’re you doing out here with just your pajamas?” It’s ironic because Harry’s in the same attire as he stands there with his hair whipping in the air. His cheeks are flushed pink despite only being outside for less than a minute. It makes his skin glow.

Louis stands up, suddenly too cold to even stand without his legs shaking. Harry steadies him with a hand around his waist though.

“Louis, you’re going to get sick if you keep this up. Your skin is freezing and you’re shivering.” Louis ignores him as he’s lead to their bed. As they climb the stairs, it’s like it gets warmer. It’s probably in his head. He wraps himself in a quilt and Harry follows but Louis feels a lump in his throat. He feels the stinging of his eyes warning him that he’s about to cry and frantically wipes them.

“Hey,” Harry says moving closer to him and skimming fingertips under his eyes and down to his cheeks, “hey, none of that, alright? Why’re you upset?”

Louis sniffles and turns his face to bury it into the pillow. He feels the words rush out of him before he can stop them. They almost feel numb on his tongue.

“We don’t have to sleep in the same bed if you want,” he whispers. Harry’s face twists up in confusion, his eyebrows turned upwards and lips downward.

“Why would you say that? What gave you the idea I wouldn’t want to sleep with you?”

“It’s just, you’re not obligated to spend time with me. You shouldn’t feel guilty for not wanting to be beside be twenty-four seven.” Harry moves closer to him until his lips are attached to his shoulder. Soft and a little wet, Louis sighs a little.

“I genuinely like to spend time time with you, okay? We’re a team, you know that,” he pouts against the skin, “you probably don’t know because you’re too thick to, but sleeping beside you is a privilege. 

“M’not thick, I just have eyes,” he counters, “You were sleeping in the guest room before, Haz.”

“Not because I wanted to,” Harry defends as understanding looms across his facial features, “you were moving further from me when I tried to cuddle you.”

His frown deepens and Louis wants to kiss it away. His toes find Harry’s under the sheets and they tangle their lower bodies before Louis turns his head to allow Harry to kiss him. He trails his mouth from his forehead to his chin, cheek to the other cheek before kissing the corners of his mouth. When Louis’ had enough teasing, he kissed Harry; hot and cold mingling together.

“You’d tell me if I get annoying, wouldn’t you?”

Harry closes his eyes; buries his head in the crook Louis’ neck before responding, “Sure.”

As he looks out the window, his skin feeling thawed out by Harry’s warmth, he thinks maybe red and white aren’t an emotion but a feeling. And its in between emptiness and feeling too much.

He doesn’t understand how that can be possible, just knows he feels it. On the dresser, he sees his phone light up, probably Liam trying to reach him. He ignores it though because Harry’s hot breath is fanning against his neck and the little hairs on his body perk up at the feeling.

Sleep comes just a little easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave comments if you're still reading or if you're just not engaged in the story plot anymore. Just tell me what you think, please. 
> 
> Sorry for the late update and you can always reach me on my tumblr at trytoescapeit for whatever reason you want to talk about. tysm if you're still reading after I abandoned updating for a while. Won't happen again.


	8. I Wish You'd Live Like You're Made of Glass.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis decides he's happy... sometimes. Liam and Zayn might be hiding something and Harry's pretty smart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter title is from 5AM by Amber Run. I promise you'll love that song if you like my other song recs.  
> Thank you to the person who visited my tumblr the other day, you really gave me that push I needed to write. I was so happy I didn't even mind my trigonometry teacher yelling at my class. 
> 
> Please leave your feedback and kudos, you can find me on tumblr at trytoescapeit

“I’m losing it.”

\--

FRANK SINATRA , _last words before dying_

Louis’ not sure what he dreams of but when he wakes up he feels a strange sadness sitting in the middle of his stomach. He swears he can feel it in his rib cage too. He ignores it though and hauls himself out of bed careful not to wake Harry who’s formed a drool stain on his pillow.

He walks down the creaking steps until he’s in the kitchen making tea; hot water for Harry. The water casts a fog on the cup and maybe Louis didn’t forget all about his dream. He sees flashes of his fourteen year old self fogging up the car window with his breath and drawing a stickman through it. He also sees flashes of his father, angry as always, with spit falling from his mouth from the way he’s yelling. Then it stops and he pictures Harry looking all serene like how he always does. He can feel his lips on his and it’s really nice. It feels really nice.

“You keep holding it like that, you’ll break it,” a hoarse voice says from next to him. Harry’s in nothing but plaid sweats, hair knotted and engorged from the humidity. Louis should talk, he should talk about last night. Should talk about how he feels selfish for putting Harry through his messes, probably even about how he feels unhappy towards nothing specific. 

“Have you looked in the mirror? Your hair looks like you’ve no idea what a comb is,” he says instead and pushes the stealing water into Harry’s hand. He takes a gulp of his own tea, simmering hot and nice.

Louis picks up his orange prescription bottle and takes a single pill. He gulps it down along with his tea and ignores Harry's disapproving look for taking it without eating anything before.  
  
“Uh, don’t remind me,” he whines and takes a seat, “do you want to visit Gemma and Zayn today? Gemma wants to apologize; Zayn wants to see you.”

“I don’t even know Zayn like that and Gemma’s got nothing to be sorry about anyway,” Louis mumbles and opens the front door; when the cold snaps against his skin, he closes it and rests his forehead against the glass.  
  
“Of course she does,” Harry gets up from his seat but doesn't move, "how've you been feeling? Are the pills helping?"

He hasn't really felt any different. Doesn't feel overwhelming sadness as often as he did before. Sometimes he does though.  He's okay though, he convinces himself so. 

 "I'm fine," he says moving towards Harry when he figures Harry won't make the first move. He stands on his tiptoes to kiss Harry; small and slow, only on the corners of his lips. Sometimes Louis thinks he's supposed to be happy, that it'd be selfish for him not to be. 

"You don't have to lie to me," Harry nearly whispers, all concern and love showing through every syllable, "it's okay to not feel like yourself. New medication and all, you're getting used to it; adjusting," he takes his hand in one swift motion and leads him up the stairs. His hand is warm in his, Harry always is warmer. Louis stumbles before him, tripping on Harry's big feet but there's  a tight grip on him to keep him from falling. 

Before he knows it, his cup of tea is sitting on the dresser and he's lying on the bed with Harry on top of him. Soft clumps of hair brushing against his bare stomach. Wet cold lips are touching his chest and then his stomach. From his stomach to the inside of his thighs. Louis squeezes his thighs closed.

He thinks he's the least obvious but Harry's smiling at him like he's a book flung open to the last page. 

 "You're ticklish there?" He asks and plants his hands on either side of his thighs. Louis flings his arm over his face.

 "No," he says and let's out a little chuckle when his boyfriend's breath fans over the skin there. It's humid breath and Harry probably still hasn't brushed his teeth but it feels nice. Not in a sexual way, in an intimate way that makes Louis feel something other than negativity. 

 "No?" Harry asks and runs the pads of his fingertips up and down. He imagines shining a fluorescent light over his body just to see every inch Harry's touched. To see the fingerprints hiding on him.

"Of course you're not ticklish there," he says sarcastically, "the laugh you're making is a cry for help." Now they're both giggling; Louis squirming and Harry pinning him down to the crumpled sheets. 

"Let go of me," he whines under the warm body. He can't help but look at the sun light shinning through the window and lighting a silver part of Harry's chest a pretty color. It's beautiful is what it is. 

"I'm ticklish here," Harry says and presses his lips to his clothed crotch. 

"I bet you are but we're not about to explore this new discovery because we have places to be, don't we?"

"I suppose," he mutters and plants one last kiss to his crotch before lifting himself up, "I guess we can go to Zayn's house in sweats, right? Is that appropriate attire?"

"We don't even know him that well. What if he's into formalities?"

 "Then he'd've broken up with my sister a long time ago," Harry says matter-of-factly. He's stripping off his plaid pajama bottoms to switch them off for grey sweats. The color makes his eyes look paler but Louis doesn't say so. 

 "Come on, get dressed. If we hurry, they might have left over breakfast," Harry rushes throwing random articles of clothing at him, "get up, get up, get  _up_."

 

* * *

 

 

 

The car ride there is short and they don't even recognize which apartment they're supposed to be going to because they've only been a couple of times. But there's a blue car that resembles Gemma's a whole lot parked in front of an apartment building and Harry thinks he remembers going to door forty nine the last time so that's what they do. They're standing right in front of it when Louis has doubts because the door adjacent to it, door forty seven, looks familiar. 

"Harry, it's the wrong door," Louis' saying as he raises his balled up fist against door forty seven. Harry's got his raised to the other. He feels like he's in a western movie and it's a stand-off, only he's in Washington. 

"I don't think so, the number forty nine seems pretty significant in my memory." Louis rolls his eyes at that and knocks against the door just as Harry does the same. Door forty nine opens first, a woman with greying hair and glasses thick as binoculars opens the door. A frown creases her lips. 

"I don't want your Cable Vision," the woman says groggily and the door Louis knocked on flings open revealing Zayn in nothing but a towel wrapped around his lower half. His hair's still dripping and pots and pans can heard from inside. He takes in Louis and Harry first and then the old woman glaring down the two. 

 "Oh, good morning Miss Jarvis. Sorry for the interruption, must have knocked on the wrong door these two." 

"That's quite alright Mister Malik," the woman says before slamming the door in their faces.  

"Alright," Zayn claps his hands together, "Gemma's just cooking and you're the last to show up so follow me this way," he opens the door wider and walks through a dim hallway. Only one lightbulb of the three are working and the living room is in worse condition. Two lamps are the only source of light, one bulb twitching and the other dim like the others. 

"What a lovely home you've got here," Harry speaks up looking around. He's only being kind, there are only two couches as furniture and three moving boxes in the corner of the room. 

"I  _do_  try," Zayn smiles. He leads them to the kitchen where Gemma is standing by the stove in over sized sweats and scrambling eggs. Louis smiles awkwardly at her and looks around the kitchen, his eyes widening comically when they rest on Liam and a boy with cheap blonde-dyed hair. 

"This' Liam and his ex roommate Niall," Zayn introduces.

"Oh, you know Louis?" Liam asks and hops off one of the four cardboard boxes to hug him. He hugs Harry next. 

"And you are?"

"M'Harry," he smiles politely, "I think everyone knows Louis," he jokes, "can't forget him, you know?"

"Exactly," he responds and Louis turns to the blonde boy. 

"You must be Niall then?" 

"That'd be me," he says but doesn't make any moves to get up. He smile is all warm and polite though so no offense is taken. 

"Hey, Lou?" Gemma asks setting the bowl down and turning to him. Louis feels a little nervous now. He feels something he close to what he imagines claustrophobia feels like. 

"Can I talk to you in the bedroom really quickly?" He nods and waits for her to lead him to a door next to the kitchen. The apartment's small and almost completely empty. She closes the door behind herself and wraps her skinny arms around his shoulders. Rubs small little circles against his neck. 

"Nothing to apologize for Gems," he says before she even has the chance to. 

"I do though. I don't know what I was thinking," she plants her hands on either side of his face, "I'm sorry." She kisses his cheeks. 

"It's not a big deal," he hates the attention, "are you making bacon too?" He changes the subject. 

"I'll make bacon and no one will be allowed to eat it but you," she squeezes his cheek and opens the door leaving him in the room with only a mattress and dresser filling it. 

Louis walks out after her until they're back in the kitchen where Harry's taken a liking to Niall. They're talking about a television show Louis can't be bothered to put a name to. 

"Why's it so empty in here?"

"I'm moving in with Liam because I'm being evacuated from here. Can you believe how much this shitty complex costs? Too damn much," Zayn answers his own question, "we'll be sharing rent if I move in with Liam and Niall's tired of roommates so."

Louis whips his head to Liam, raising his eyebrow at him but Liam's avoiding his eyes. Staring at the walls, his hands, even the counter top. Everything but Louis. He can't help but think about his drunk, frantic call.

"That's convenient," Louis muses still holding his gaze. Harry nudges him and drops to his knees bring Louis down with him. 

"The boxes are there for a reason," Gemma says, "you don't have to sit on the floor."

"Four boxes and six people. I'm so sorry the public school system failed you so badly. It's okay, I can teach you simple math," Harry says and wraps his arms around Louis. 

"You're not getting any food," Gemma declares, "and I just finished too. If only you had waited a while longer to say any remarks against my education. We went to the same school  _anyway_."

"Okay second honors," Harry says and then whispers against Louis' ear, "I was first honors."

Louis kisses his nose, "congrats on being a nerd, baby. I was average," he shrugs. Harry breaks into a smile. 

"You won't believe how many techniques I used to cheat on the hard tests," Harry says and nips at his ear. 

"Ew, gross. Keep your mouth to yourself." 

Gemma places the food on the marble and everyone takes a portion of it, Louis sneaking four pieces of bacon. Liam and Niall are talking in hushed tones that Louis wishes he could hear. The lights are still dim and twitching. Louis' sitting on the cold floor with Harry while four other people are sitting on boxes as chairs but he thinks the apartment is kind of cozy. He wishes he could have come over before; he feels normal. 

Right when he's taking a bite of crispy bacon,  he figures he oughta talk to Liam before the day is over. 

It's probably around twelve though so he's got enough time. Right now, he'd much rather take a bite of bacon and have Harry take a bite from the other end and reenact The Lady and the Tramp. So he does. He's got a reason to be happy right now. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me if I offended anyone please and thank you. Please comment and leave kudos.


	9. Take My Hand and Set These Streets on Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis experiences the enigmas there are against people battling depression

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Secret Nation's Watch Us Burn  
> This chapter is short, my apologies. I'm writing this new fic that I'm so excited about and can't wait to post. I just wanted to post in honor of One Direction starting their fish official break. I'm so excited to see what they do on their free time and for their accents to get thicker.  
> WARNING: this chapter includes mild self harman past abuse. It also includes a window into Louis' past.  
> please leave comments and kudos. I would love to see what you guys are thinking so far. & it would be so lovely to talk to me over tumblr at trytoescapeit

_“A certain butterfly is already on the wing.”_

\--

VLADIMIR NABOKOV, _last words before dying of pneumonia_

There's no television in the house; Zayn thinks it just poisons the mind. He's got board games though; a lot of them. They range from Clue to Sorry, from Scrabble to Monopoly. Monopoly seems to be his favorite because he knows all the cheats inside and out, Louis thinks it's because he probably studied to be an economist in college. It's not fair is all Louis is saying; he might be bias though because he's had jail time for half the game time. It's ridiculous.   
  
"Let's play Clue," he suggests even though he knows everyone is well invested in the game. Well, everyone but himself and Liam. Liam's just been sat there moving his piece like he couldn't care less if someone stole it or not. In fact, Louis' already stolen it three times all of which Liam didn't really care so he placed it back.

"Just because—" Zayn begins but he's heard it all already so he hoists himself up from the grim floor, dusts his pants and taps Liam's shoulder.   
  
"I'm getting some fresh air, wanna tag a long?" He asks and Liam gets up a little reluctant; a little dazed. It's smells like smoke in the halls; intoxicating and maybe if Louis was an arsenic he'd like it. But he's barely a smoker so.

They close the door as they step into the hall; Louis leaning against the door.   
  
"So," he insinuates the word. Waits for Liam to say something first.   
  
"I swear I didn't mean for us to kiss,” Liam begins, "Gemma's great, alright? She's great and she doesn't deserve to be cheated on, no one does,” he says stuttering over his words. His eyes are so pleading like he just wants Louis to understand. Like he needs him to. Louis looks away slowly to stare at the ugly brown walls. He thinks they might even be stained with dirt. There's banging coming from the door ahead    
  
"Gemma's very great," Louis begins, "and I don't know what's going on between you and Zayn but if you hurt Gemma," Louis pauses. He doesn't really have any threats in mind. Partly thinks Gemma can handle herself.

"You can slap me or whatever," Liam supplies and they smile at each other. The lighting makes Liam look younger; it flickers across his features. It reminds Louis of being eight and carving pumpkins. Having the guts under his nails and some on his cheeks. It reminds him of his mother igniting a candle inside of it and watching it burn out all night.   
  
It was around that age the kids in his class always talked about how they licked their fingers and took out the flame like that. Louis never tried though; couldn't tell you if it's true or not.   
  
"Why would you think it'd be a good idea to move in with him?"   
  
"He came to work crying about how he's homeless; said he's been hiding from the land lord for months. I didn't want to leave him like that, he's been ignoring me for quite some time but he doesn't deserve homelessness," Liam says as he wipes his hands on his faded blue jeans.

"He could have just lived with the Gemma, Harry, and I. Would've made more sense wouldn't it?"   
  
"Gemma wouldn't allow it apparently," he says and Louis' eyebrows knit together.   
  
"Why not?" He asks. The house is big, they've still got that big empty guest room and no noisy neighbors. A part of Louis is already blaming himself as one of the reasons.   
  
"He wouldn't tell me. He's been so quiet around me. I've already apologized."  
  
"You're not the one who should apologize," Louis says as he runs his fingers through his hair. It's soft and stringy; gets tangled in his fingers when he bumps into a knot.   
  
"I was a part of it though," he disagrees and Louis really doesn't understands how someone can be so willing to accept their wrong when they shouldn't. He supposed it's got something to do with morals.

"Seems like you've found all of the young people in town," Louis smiles. He's not being literal; there's this girl, Eleanor, who works in this musky book shop. She's around their age but he thinks she's an old souls with the way she's always dancing with the old people and recommending books he had to read in high school as assignments.   
  
"It was beginning to get lonely," he muses and then, "It's nice to see you again by the way. You look a little less sad than before," Liam says and follows Louis sliding to the floor against the wall. The carpet's rough under their skin. It reminds Louis of Harry's tongue after he's just drank too much liquor. That rarely happens now though because Harry thinks he can't have fun anymore. It's true. Louis shrugs his shoulder in response to Liam.   
  
"I wasn't sad," he defends. He doesn't think he was.   
  
"I'm glad. Can I ask you something?"

"It depends," Louis says and runs his tongue along the back of his wisdom teeth.  
  
"Gemma told me not to bring up certain topics around you but she wouldn't tell me why," he says and it's warm in this hallway; stale air and al,l but Louis feels ice cold engulf him. He feels dread and anger but only towards himself. Angry that Gemma thinks he can't handle himself.   
  
He's like a child who can't be trusted with the simplest things. It sucks, it really does because he's lived his whole adolescent years like that. He doesn't need people his age treating him like that too.   
  
"Like what?" He clutches his fists just to let go; likes the way his knuckles go white and they way his veins show through his hands. Thin and purple, thin and purple.   
  
"Like how my father works in an auto place and how he's got no forearm because a bad engine fire took it," Liam says and bumps his foot to Louis' thigh. Louis moves away before he can even think of it.

He closes his eyes to open them back again. He wonders what shade of blue they are in this lighting. Wonders if maybe he should just hang out with all the old people because he knows they're bones are too brittle to keep up with him. Maybe he can replace Eleanor.   
  
"M'sorry, I should've not said anything," he rushes when he takes in the stiffness of his posture, "the man with the curly hair, Harry, is he your boyfriend? You guys are cute together, y'know?"  
  
Louis' lightly scratching the veins in his wrists now. It tickles and it doesn't burn as much as he wants it to but then again, he really doesn't want to hurt himself. Never wants to.  
He still scratched though until there's rash red where his nails grazed them and his veins are becoming more prominent. His skin's strangely becoming more soft and delicate. Kind of hates being compared to something delicate when he feels like he's the roughest and dented thing anyone will ever see. He faintly wonders if he can stop the iron and blood from pumping within them by holding his thumb over them.   
  
"Are you not dating? I'm so sorry, I'm just saying all the wrong things. You, you look warmer today."

"I'm cold," Louis says under his breath as he pulls his knees to his chest and buries his on his knees. Now his wrists sting a little and Liam's father lost his hand to a fucking car; he feels like the back of his eyes are on fire when he knows their not and he feels Liam's hand rubbing his back like it's comforting when it's not. It's not comforting because it's just a hand, isn't it? It's not like it's relieving the years of damage done to him and God he sounds dramatic but it's true.   
  
He's got years of damage starting from when his father hit him across the face when he was caught sneaking out of the house and the hitting became a habit for stupid things. Then the damage only continued when Garret asked him out for coffee on a hot day. Nobody drinks coffee in summer but he said yes because Garret had pretty brown eyes; really they were just normal brown eyes but they were so pretty. Then Garret liked biting his neck and Louis liked it so he allowed it. He didn't like how Garret left bite marks so deep he bled and the indents of his teeth stood on his arm for months but he allowed it because they were the same color of any love bite he's ever seen. People would look at them and wonder what he gashed his arm into but it was none of their business.   
  
Now his damage is painted on Harry. It's painted on his lips, his hands, the skin where his penis and scrotum meet. It's everywhere really. 

"It's fucking cold out here," Louis repeats a little louder and stands up. He feels Liam's hand leave his back but he doesn't look down to see his face as he opens the door and walks back into the crowded living room. He sees Harry steal from monopoly bank before Harry's patting the space beside him.   
  
"You're okay?" Harry asks as he tangles their hands and pushes him down. Louis nods.   
  
"What happened?" Harry whispers against the shell of his ear. It tickles, the good kind of tickle. He rubs his thumb against the back of his neck and Louis shrugs his shoulders.   
  
"Nothing," he says, "can I ask you something without you like freaking out or lying?"   
  
"Of course," he says and then he turns to Zayn, "can we borrow your bathroom for a second?"  
  
Zayn raises his eyebrow but nods anyway. Louis stands up first and leads Harry to the small bathroom near the vacant room. There are no curtains covering the tub and a small window is covered in a thin sheet of ice. 

He locks the door when he has Harry sitting on the toilet and him leaning against the sink.   
  
"I've never lied to you," Harry tells him and Louis rolls his eyes because everyone lies.   
  
"That bullshit but I'll let it slide because you're only trying to let me continue. Do I ever stop you from doing things? Have I ever held you back from doing things you really wanted to?"  
  
"Absolutely not," he says and gets up to tangle his hands in Louis' frizzy hair, "I feel like I don't want to do some things ever since I've met you, does that count? It's not really you that holds me back; it's more that I feel like you make me not want to get piss drunk every night or like take drugs. I've never done that by the way, just an example."

"Do you not say certain things around me because you think I can't take it?"  
  
"Louis, I love you. So much but I can't be bothered to put a filter through everything I say. I try not to say something insensitive but the truth is people die and that's okay. People feel sad and that's okay. Plus, I think you knowing the truth is a lot better than shielding you, isn't it? Do you want me to not say things in front of you? I can start if you'd like, it'll be hard but I can try," he rambles. His hair keeps falling in his eyes; Louis wants to pin it up with a clip. 

"I'm not a child," Louis complains against Harry's chest.   
  
"I know you're not."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Alright," Harry says finally and kisses Louis quickly against the lips and rushes out of the room. When Louis walks out, Liam has his hands in his hair and his eyes closed. Louis decides to sit next to him with their shoulders brushing. He nudged him until Liam looks up.   
  
"You did nothing, alright? Don't mind me. I've got depression is all. Don't let my attitude bother you."  
  
"You didn't bother me," Liam rushes, "I shouldn't have brought it up."  
  
"I don't care what you bring up," Louis says, "I don't need you to be mindful of what you say around me."  
  
"Got it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If i've been problematic at all, please tell me either through comments or tumblr. Stay safe everyone. Sorry again for this short chapter


	10. You Can Hold Mt Heart in Your Hand Till It Stops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You get a glimpse of Louis and Harry's first night together and it's basically all fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to that person who commented telling me that I forgot to write the last words of a person in my last chapter, I'm going to put it up right now. And thank you so much to the people who commented before, I love reading them so please leave comments about what you think of this chapter. please and thank you.
> 
> Sorry it took me forever to post, I had to my research paper for trig and then my family came down to visit so I had to spend some time with them. And I'm writing another pic that i'm almost done with, can't wait to post it.

_“I don’t want the doctor’s death. I want to have my own freedom.”_

—

RAINER MARIA RILKE, last words before dying of leukemia

 

When Harry was younger, curls short and teeth bigger than his face, he would watch his mother paint. She would stand with her face to the window, the sun would skim around her body lighting her hair a light brown. The color palette was his favorite, it was so sloppy and the brush would travel roughly through the thick paint, mixing them however his mother wanted.

His father, some nights, would end up with purples circling his knuckles. It was a pretty purple that hid red underneath; a color his mother never had on her palette. But his mother was a painter and when she flicked her wrist, she would create the prettiest things. When she would close her eyes, she would see the outline of her next idea behind her eyelids and Harry thought she was art herself. Her nose was crooked in a special way; eyebrows not quite matching. She was living art and he always told her that at night right before she put him to bed. Her laugh was loud like his is’ prettier leaving her lips only because it completed the art piece.

 In college, he tried art classes filled with talented students who colored their pages in charcoal colors; split images of their subjects. They were talented in the way he wasn’t but he liked looking at their white canvases transforming into what they wanted others to see. Their art was better than his mothers; he hated to admit it then but it’s true. Her paint strokes were too rough and the finishing product was always dark; it reminded him of the circles that rest under his eyes. It reminded him of rain and crows; a murder of crows.

 When he met Louis, Louis was like the water the paint brush dipped into when it became too brittle; too dry. Louis was the colors swirling at the bottom; pinks, goldens, blues. Harry saw the gold staining his cheeks. It glittered in the street lamps and Louis had no idea. He saw the hues of red under his fingernails; on his shirt in the form of blood. He was a bloody mess that night. Finally, he saw, he _sees_ , the different shade of blue in his eyes, in his movements, in the way he falls asleep at night with his knee jutting against Harry’s hipbone.

 The first night they slept together, no sex just sleep, Louis was tentative. He was all slow movements and golden cheeks with a little bit of pink from the way he was blushing. Harry thought Louis’d say no to sleeping over because it was all still new and Louis was still sharp around the edges. Maybe he only stood because he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore or because his bed sheets were too cold. Harry doesn't really care what made him stay; at least he stood. The pillows didn't smell like any extravagant detergent and his bed sheets were rough against skin with his window that never closed because his landlord never got a round to fix it but Louis still liked it enough to come back.

 So when Louis sits next to him after returning from Liam, still all in the living room with the game boards forgotten because Gemma’s taken out her computer and she actually pays for Netflix, and rubs his arms like he’s colder than he ought to be, Harry thinks of a midnight blue swirling in muggy water. The color his mother would get after she’d just painted the night sky or the blue of a vicious wolf’s eye. It was a dark color than, his mother would spill it down the drain to replace it with something cleaner, clearer. It’s a dark color even now as Harry wraps his arms around Louis, running his cold fingers up and down alongside his. He knows it’s not doing much of anything because he knows Louis’ not cold. He pretends though because Louis’ blue in this lighting.

 “Lie down on me,” Harry whispers in his ear. Louis raises his eyebrow like he’s suspicious so Harry leans down to peck him on the nose and slowly bring his head on his lap. He can feel the smile against his chin and it’s nice; familiar.

 When he finally has his head against his thigh, he lifts his shirt up and wraps it around Louis’ head; his hair soft but bought at the same time. Louis puts up a fight for less than five seconds, hands pushing against his until he’s laughing against his stomach. His hot breath tickles so Harry tightens the shirt; yelps when he feels a nibble.

 “Louis, ow,” He chastises with a pinch to the arm.

 “Let me go,” Louis whines, “I want to watch Sherlock. You’re so annoying.”

 “They’re not even watching Sherlock anymore. If you were paying attention, you would know that everyone’s seen the last episode so we’re on Youtube looking for Pushing Daisies.” Louis makes a sound in his throat close to a hmm. Harry wants to hear it for the rest of his life, he does.

 “It feels like I’m back in two-thousand and nine,” he mutters, scraping his teeth against Harry’s hair under his belly button, “let me go.”

“Stop biting me, it tickles,” Harry dips his hands under his shirt to run his fingers through Louis’ hair. It’s feathery soft where it reaches his neck. “I’ll pull it if you bite me again.”

No you won’t,” Louis says, “ugh, it’s so hot, get your shirt off of my head.”

When he lifts the shirt, it’s to see Louis with his eyes closed; eyelashes fluttering against the golden skin. The blue of his eyes look brighter, like water that’s not deep enough to drowned in.

“You know, your eyes are the color of fungus. The type of fungus that grows against buildings after it’s gone through rainstorms,” he says matter-of-factly.

“That’s so rude,” Harry mumbles, “get off of me,” he pushes his head off his lap and hauls himself to a stand-up position.

“Where’re the snacks?” Gemma shrugs her shoulders while Niall rummages through his pockets to retrieve a handful of peanuts.

“No thanks,” he declines nicely, “I think I’ll just run to the store to get some snacks,” turning to Louis he adds, “company me or no?”

 “Sure,” he holds his arms out for Harry to latch on to and haul him up. Louis’ quite light; Harry thinks of hollow insides.

 They grab their jackets silently, taking orders of peoples’ favorite snacks before they’re walking down the steps and feeling coldness against their faces when the door is swung open. It faintly stinks of garbage that makes them ruffle their noses. Ignoring their car because it looks like the neighborhood where there’s competition for parking, they walk down the cracked pavement like they know where they’re going.

 It’s like when Harry was younger and he’d take the bus and get off at wrong stops. One time, he fell asleep and the bus driver had woken him up talking about how this was the last stop. He pretended like he wasn’t lost; bright unfamiliar lights of deli’s that read things like Bo’s Deli to Angel Den. He had been sure the latter was a stripping market but it glowed the brightest. It glowed purple and green, lit the whole street in it.

 That’s when he got scared though; in the deep purple light where he could hear the ruckus of music and people chattering; passengers twice his size looking at him like they knew he was lost.

 His phone was dead because he used it all up during class but his mother found him; pulled up in front of him with a worried look on her face. She didn’t scold him but he still felt guilty.

 Right now though, Louis looks like the sun itself with his eyes sparkling. He bumps against his arm and Harry wraps it around his waist.

“We don’t know where we’re going,” Louis says with a little frown.

“That’s alright, it’s just a walk then. It shouldn’t even be this cold, it’s almost the end of February,” A park comes into view, small and vacant; Harry wants to see if a single swing can hold both their weight. He drops his arm from the small  waist in exchange for grabbing Louis’ small hand and dragging him to it.

It wobbled underneath and Louis rambled under his breath about how the chain is going to snap because “ _you're not three anymore, Harry”._ And it's true, their in their twenties but it's fine. Louis sits on Harry's lap; intertwine their legs together. It's hard to move so they just sit quietly with Harry's legs losing feeling.

Harry thinks Louis’s being washed from all the blues now, the dark colors swirling down the drain until it’s a baby-blue turning into transparency.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments and kudos; and thank you for your patience. HAPPY LATE NEW YEAR BY THE WAY!

**Author's Note:**

> Please tell me what you think so far. If I've got something wrong or offended anyone don't hesitate to tell me because if you don't tell me, I won't know any better and offend so many people.


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